Sweater Weather
by Links6
Summary: Robin catches a cold, Batman and Alfred aren't easily fooled though. sick!Robin daddy!Bats


**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of its related characters… just a fanfiction!**

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 _ **Sweater Weather**_

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"PPPXXXTTCCHH!"

"That's eighteen times in the last half hour now, Dick."

"You've been counting?"

"Yes."

"It's just hayf-FFXXTTCCH!"

Bruce finally rests his hand on Dick's forehead with a lopsided smile, "Of course it is. It's just a hayfever that's actually a cold," he says sarcastically, "Before you take nap, ask Alfred for something for colds."

A frown graces the young man's face, only to crease further before letting off another resounding sneeze, "I'm not sick. I'm not."

"I know," Bruce assures and gently pushes him towards the door, "Get going."

"Okay... but I'm not sick," Dick finally says with a defeated look on his face, his glassy eyes clearly showing his feverishness, "Okay?"

"Okay."

A little bit –a lot- slower than usual, Richard gets up from the seat he'd taken upon the Batcave's computer workstation. He tries to jump down from his perch only to land askew.

Luckily, Batman's reflexes hasn't been affected and he managed to grab Robin just in time.

"… Don't say it," Dick says and sighs. He finally takes up the long route up out of the Batcave.

Even after the busiest nights of their usual vigilante work, Dick would've been running up those steps two at a time. Right now, he's dragging his feet, looking like he's about to pass out too. It finally hits a high-note when Dick gets to the fifth step and takes a seat, breathing deeply.

Bruce heads over to him and can't help but feel that instinctive protectiveness when he bends down to Dick's height and takes off his hood, "Passed out yet?"

"No," the groggy voice answers and Dick can't lift his head up without feeling that wooziness again, "Uggggh… Not yet."

"I figured that," and Batman finally kneels down in front of him, "Hop on."

"Wha?"

Batman looks back with a stern expression on his face.

Just like that, Dick grabbed hold of Bruce's neck and couldn't help but laugh when Bruce finally carried him piggyback all the way up the steps. Unfortunately the sneezes didn't exactly stop and a burst of sneezes from a not-so-graceful pre-teen had a certain cowl covered Dark Knight layered in something other than his Batsuit.

"Oh, my bad," Dick apologizes, unfortunately ruining the sincerity with the chuckle that followed.

"It's fine," Bruce says, like it didn't faze him at all. It probably didn't, he is Batman, after all.

Alfred met Bruce at the top of the steps, a tray of tea, cookies and medicine in hand. A raised eyebrow asked a menagerie of questions without saying a word. He hums to himself before stepping aside to let Bruce past, "I'll get the fireplace going."

They head towards the living room.

Alfred sets down the tray of the coffee table before heading over to the fireplace. He dropped a couple of fire starters into the logs before lighting it. "May I enquire as to when Mr. Grayson finally realised he was sick?"

"I'm not sick," Dick retorts, a yawn promptly followed his statement which had both older men chuckling.

"Still hasn't," Bruce answers finally and sets Dick down on the couch. He heads off to the hallway closet to grab a couple of blankets and pillows.

Another sneeze has Dick shaking like a leaf and he definitely doesn't look fine anymore. He sniffles and runs his glove under his nose, "Ugh, it's just a bit of h-hayfever…" he blinks blearily before finally noticing his… less than pristine glove and takes it off, "Won't be using that anymore."

"Indeed," Alfred agrees and carefully picks up the glove to throw in the wash, "Are there more costume pieces you would prefer to use in lieu of tissues?"

"My bad," Robin says only to run his other glove under his nose a moment later. He sniffs again only to realize his mistake, "OH! I'm sorry, Uncle Alfred!"

The last glove joins the other on their way to the laundry.

"Change into these," Bruce says and drops a t-shirt and sweatpants on Dick's lap.

"But-"

A stern look from Batman can silence adolescents and villains alike.

"Fine," Dick relents and heads over to the bathroom to change.

"If you pass out, yell before you do," Bruce says and smirks when Dick rolls his eyes.

"I'm not sure that would be the wisest request, Master Bruce," Alfred says, walking back into the living room, "He might just take you up on your offer."

"He's been sick for two days now," Bruce says and props the pillows up against the armrest, "He's been trying to act so normal, but I think that's what wore him out even more."

"He was fine this afternoon, but he's running a fever at the moment," Alfred says and shrugs, "Some rest and time off from crime-fighting will definitely speed his recovery."

"Roasted marshmallows will help too," Dick says and smiles sheepishly when he takes a seat on his make-shift bed with his new attire. Only, he's not just dressed in his shirt and sweats. He's got a sweater on that's about six times too large for him.

"… Is that my sweater?" Bruce asks, eyeing the sweater like a hawk.

"No…?" Robin answers as non-chalantly as he could manage.

Bruce tosses the blanket over his son, deciding not to comment on Dick's choice of attire, "Alfred brought you tea."

"But… _marshmallows…_ "

"Tea first, something to eat, cold medicine _then-_ "

 _"But..!"_

 _"_ You know what my conditions are," Bruce says sternly and hands him the tray.

Dick eyes the tray for a moment before finally starting to munch on the cookies arranged for him, " _Coconut -!_ " he says –mouth full of cookies- and smiles, "My favourite!"

"No other would do," Alfred agrees, walking in with another tray for Bruce in hand, "Tea, Master Bruce?"

"Thank you," Bruce says and takes a seat at the foot-end of Dick's newest bed. He takes the teacup from Alfred and leans back with a content smile on his face, "Hmm… Alfred?"

"Packed and ready, sir," Alfred says and pulls out the pack of marshmallows from his jacket.

"How would you like yours, Master Dick?" Alfred says and holds up three sticks, each a marshmallow stuck on the end. Bruce's marshmallow was toasted into oblivion, a black burnt marshmallow finally emerging from the fireplace. Alfred had his slightly roasted, a bit burnt on the edges.

"That's charcoal…" Dick grimaces as Bruce munches on his burnt-to-a-crisp marshmallow.

" _That's delicious_ ," Batman corrects. His preference for marshmallows to also be _black as the night_ was actually fitting. Probably takes his coffee the same way too.

Alfred hands over the extra marshmallow to Robin, "The honour's all yours, Master Grayson," he says and smiles.

Just a shame Richard's marshmallow suffered the same fate as his gloves.

"I'm getting the tissues," Bruce says grimly and gets up with a sigh.

"I'll get the anti-bacterial wipes," Alfred added.

"I'll just stay here… roasting more marshmallows…" Richard says with a grin, another marshmallow already roasting in the fireplace, still wearing his dad's sweater.

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